If William Hague had ever enjoyed sexual relations with a man it (if not he!) would almost certainly have come out by now. I find it increasingly hard to muster up much interest in politicians’ private lives, even the previously reliable argument that if one is prepared to betray a spouse then they will be prepared to betray their country rings increasingly hollow. In the majority of cases, personal peccadilloes probably don’t provide any pertinent insights into political efficiency or even integrity.
But the appetite for crucifying transgressors remains, undoubtedly, and, tragically, it is more acute in the context of homosexual relations than hetero. Hague looks to me like a man acting out of desperation. Not desperation to avoid having his deception revealed but quite the opposite. Desperation to have his version of events believed simply because it is true. To believe the allegations is to believe that he is deceitful and duplicitous but it also to believe that his wife is too, or at the very least naïve to the point of stupidity. He has over-reacted, almost certainly, but I rather admire his reason for doing so: say what you like about me, but insult my wife, especially when she is already suffering, and I will do everything I can to make you see the error of your ways, even the revelation of intensely private and personal tragedies. The great shame of it all, of course, is that it almost certainly won’t work.